


Aeolus

by chaos_harmony



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare, Ulysses - James Joyce
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-14
Updated: 2012-03-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 22:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaos_harmony/pseuds/chaos_harmony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Horatio mourns, Claudius hides, Laertes bargains, Gertrude hopes, and the Ghost waits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aeolus

**Author's Note:**

> Posted at the request of a friend. Originally a creative project from an English class a couple years back. The prompt was to write something in the style of Joyce's _Ulysses_. I picked Hamlet, and this was the result.

IN THE HEART OF THE HIBERNIAN METROPOLIS

Too much sadness in the castle, house, home that was no longer a home, home never a home to him in the first place, so Horatio went away. The house of ghosts, inside the walls of his mind now. The hoarse, dead whispers of its occupants kept him company:  
\-- My father! Methinks I see my father!  
\-- O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly.  
\-- Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia.  
Words, words, words, none of them his, no mouths still living, no tongues to shape sound, but whispers still, the house of ghosts inside him, a foreign city outside, all unfamiliar sprawled around him.  
\-- There’s a special providence in the fall of a sparrow.

 

THE WEARER OF THE CROWN

Bloodstained hands, guilt-stained conscience, a seemly disposition. Claudius kept his secrets well-guarded. Mask worn to perfection, one and the same with the face of the false brother, he wore his smiles under secret smiles while attendants bow in deference to passing royalty. Hint of Cain and Abel, wouldn’t you say, the unwhispered whispers went, and all hail Denmark’s king.

 

THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES

Little sisters grew up, became womengirls, soft, soft skin and thick fall of hair, the scent drew men in close, predator to the prey. Not Ophelia, whom Laertes protected, not Ophelia, girlchildwoman, Laertes’ sister.  
\-- I’ve seen you watching her, said Laertes. I know what it means.  
\-- That so, said Hamlet.  
Curl of the mouth, smirk unbecoming on the face of Denmark’s heir. Two men with curled fists stood with bare inches of space between them.  
\-- She doesn’t understand, said Laertes, don’t do this.  
\-- This affair is not your concern, Laertes.  
\-- She is my sister.  
What a curious thing is love.  
\-- What do you suggest I take instead?  
Bitten lip, seven inches and then five and three and two and one, and Laertes and Hamlet without any space between them at all.  
\-- I see, said Hamlet.  
Understanding like the blood red sun. Ophelia and Laertes, born of the same red blood, and Hamlet wanted a prize, still.  
\-- I’ll be your foil, Laertes.  
Yes, yes, yes, what a curious thing is love.

 

LET US HOPE

Gertrude, dressed in mourning black, watched Hamlet with hooded eyes. Widowmotherqueen, no longer the good wife, but mother still, part of the woman ineluctable.  
\-- The prince is mad, murmured the servants, and Gertrude did not hear, does not hear what she does not want to. Still, awareness lingered on the periphery and Hamlet was born of Gertrude’s body, yes, the son undenied in throes of insanity.  
Her son was the people’s prince once, could be again, mother’s little boy. No longer the emblem of guilt, she thought. Gertrude closed her eyes, seeing the specter of possibility. The laughing child.

 

THE GRANDEUR THAT WAS ROME

\-- Methinks I see my father!  
Bleached white bones where royalty once stood proud and erect, the king’s ghost whispered in the ears of his trembling heir. Rotten corpse, aren’t you laughable now, ha ha ha, aren’t you the very epitome of the pathetically wronged.  
\-- Wait, said the ghost, wait.  
At his word, the world fell to dust.


End file.
